


A Christmas for the Both of Us

by SophiaRemembers



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-09 01:12:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 12,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1139675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophiaRemembers/pseuds/SophiaRemembers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Christmas Season is upon the residents of 221B Baker Street! While John is ready to dive into the festivities, Sherlock is much more reluctant, but John hopes to change that. (A story of short chapters/one shots inspired by gaydetective's 25 Day OTP Challenge on Tumblr)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day 1: Getting out/Putting up Decorations

25 Days of Christmas

OTP: Johnlock

Day 1: Getting out/Putting up Decorations

 

                “John, what is this?”

                Sherlock’s disgruntled tone caused John to turn around as he finished hanging up the last of the garland.

                “They’re Christmas decorations Sherlock. I would assume you would be able to figure that out.” The army doctor was hardly able to hold back a smirk as Sherlock eyed the decorations with a small frown.

                “Yes John, I know what they are. What I want to know is why are they here?” the detective said, letting his eyes fall on the shorter man as John stepped down from the step ladder he was using to put up the said decorations.

                “Because Christmas is just around the corner so I thought that we could bring a little spirit into the home. Mrs. Hudson thought it was a great idea to surprise you, knowing that if we waited you’d refuse to let us put them up.”

                John was right on that point, Sherlock did think that the festivities that surrounded the Christmas season were at least a little bit ridiculous, but he couldn’t deny the warmth the garland and ribbons and little Christmas ornaments brought him.      

                “Come on, it can’t be that bad can it?” John asked, putting the ladder away against the wall.

                “No, not bad, you did a very good job John,” Sherlock replied in an almost serious tone before disappearing into the kitchen.

                John smiled knowing that that was the best he was going to get for now. He had further plans for the Christmas season, hoping that he would eventually get Sherlock to warm up a little and perhaps even participate.  He set out to the last touches of the decorations as mrs. Hudson came in with a gasp.

                “Why John, they look absolutely lovely,” she said in awe.

                “Thank you Mrs. Hudson,” he said, hanging a red orb on a the wreath he had hung on the wall.

                “Isn’t it beautiful Sherlock?” the old woman asked.

                Sherlock looked out from the kitchen. “They’re multicolored, sparkling representations of a rather over festive season Mrs. Hudson,” he said in a once again serious tone.

                “Yes yes, but aren’t they beautiful?”

                A slow but small smile spread on Sherlock’s lips. “Yes, Mrs. Hudson, indeed they are.”


	2. Day 2: Making Christmas Cards

**25 Days of Chirstmas**

**OTP: Johnlock**

**Day 2: Making Christmas Cards**

 

                Sherlock stared in disdain down at the piece of folded cardstock before him. It held a picture of an arbitrary winter scene and the snow was sparkling with the silver glitter someone had so brilliantly thought to glue to it. The inside was rather plain, with simply Merry Christmas written on the right side in sickingly fancy scrawl.

                He glanced over at John as he wrote in a much similar card. Before pushing it to the center of the table.

                “John, you honestly don’t expect me to—“

                “Yes I do Sherlock. Just write something nice and sign your name, those will need to be signed as well.” John motioned his pen towards the stack of card that had accumulated before them in which he had already written notes and signed.

                “This is ridiculous,” Sherlock mumbled under his breath as he picked up a pen.

                “It’s tradition Sherlock, besides, this is the best you’re going to get, you refused to let us do pictures.”

                “I’m not going to be sending my face to even the few even deserve it, much less have it surrounded by ridiculous Christmas borders of Holly branches and Santa Claus’s.”

                John shook his head, smirking slightly at the image before pushing another card to the side. “Just do it Sherlock.”

                The consulting detective pursed his lips and pressed his pen to the paper as he skipped the note and simply signed name with a flicked scrawl.

                After they made it through the stack and had signed each card and slid them into their own personal envelopes. John set to addressing them, a task in which Sherlock refused to help, stating that John was the one that wanted to send them out in the first place. Those he would even consider sending them out to John could handle and would send cards to anyways.

                John stacked the cards in a neat pile once he had finished and putting on his coat and gloves declared he was setting out to send out the cards.

                It didn’t surprise the man when he got no response and was pretty certain Sherlock wouldn’t even notice he had left.

                John headed down and placed the letters in the mailbox to be sent out before hailing a cab to deliver the last few personally. When he returned, he first noticed that Sherlock was nowhere in sight, probably locked up in his room. As he hung up his coat he noticed a bright red envelope sitting on the table, similar to the ones that contained the cards he had just sent out.

                He frowned and stepped over, picking up the card, shocked to find his own name simply placed in familiar handwriting in the middle of the envelope.

                Curious, he flipped over the envelope and pulled out a card surprisingly different than the ones he had just spent his time signing. It was rather simple, a white card with gold embossed font reading Merry Christmas in curling cursive and surrounded by little hints of green holly leaves and an outline of a red poinsettia. He opened the card and a warm smile spread across his face.

                The inside was completely blank save for the six words written in the same handwriting as was on the envelope in black ink.

                _‘Let’s have a wonderful Christmas._

_-Sherlock’_


	3. Sitting/snuggling in front of the fireplace with hot cocoa/tea

**25 Days of Chirstmas**

**OTP: Johnlock**

**Day 3: Sitting/snuggling in front of the fireplace with hot cocoa/tea**

 

                “Scoot a little closer John,” Mrs. Hudson said waving her hand at John.

                John frowned. If he scooted any closer to Sherlock people would really be getting the wrong ideas about the two of them and there would be photographic evidence he would have trouble denying. He eyed the taller man for a moment before taking half as step over, his shoulder now pressed  against the taller man’s chest.

                “Come on you two, put your arms around each other, Sherlock, don’t look so glum.”

A bright smile spread across Sherlock’s face as he wasted no time sliding his arm around John’s waist. John looked up at him in shock as Sherlock took a sip of tea from the Christmas mug in his hand and spoke to John around the rim.

“Let’s try to make her happy John, it is the Christmas season after all.”

John sighed and placed his arm rather awkwardly behind Sherlock, taking a sip of his own tea.

“You two are so cute together,” Mrs. Hudson stated with a smile.

John’s smile fell and he felt a heat weave through his body that he was sure wasn’t from the fire that blazed behind him. “Mrs. Hudson we’re not—“

She snapped the picture before he could finish the sentence and lowered the camera with a frown. “What was that face John, smile!”

John sighed and put on his best smile as she tried again with the picture.

“Splendid! I’ll take these down and get them printed in the next couple of days,” she stated, turning off the camera.

“Thank you Mrs. Hudson,” John said, dropping his arms, realizing that Sherlock’s was still wrapped snuggly around his waist.

“Erm… Sherlock?” he said.

“Hm?” Sherlock questioned, turning and looking at him over the brim over his mug, his eyebrows raised in question.

“You, uh, can drop your arm now.”

“Oh, right, yes,” he stated, finally dropping his arm.

John stepped closer to the fire, taking a drink from his tea as a coldness enveloped him.

“Will you get us a copy of that?” Sherlock asked Mrs. Hudson.

“Yes, of course dear, I’ll get you a nice big sized one.”

John spoke up. “Really, that’s not necessary, just a small one—“

“A large one will be wonderful Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock said with a smile, sending a glance at John.

John sighed in resignation. He had a feeling that this was going to be a Christmas he wasn’t going to be able to forget.


	4. Shopping for and Wrapping Gifts

**25 Days of Christmas**

**OTP: Johnlock**

**Day 4: Shopping for and Wrapping Gifts**

 

                Sherlock let out a heavy sigh, one that wasn’t emitted intentionally but had left his lips all the same. The sigh earned him a rather annoyed look from John as he pushed the cart down the aisle. They both knew that this was the last place Sherlock wanted to be, in a crowded store as they bought the gifts he couldn’t care less about.

                _“It’s tradition and it’s nice Sherlock.”_

That had been John’s argument. Tradition. All throughout the season, John had been arguing it over and over. Sherlock didn’t remember their being so many when he was growing up. There were perhaps a few he was familiar with from when he was really little, but as he got older they were more to keep Mummy happy rather than because he or his brother were actually interested. He and Mycroft found they couldn’t care less about the festivities as there were other things they found much more important.

                “Help me find something for Molly,” John said, snapping Sherlock out of his thoughts. “Something _nice.”_ John clarified as the taller man opened his mouth.

                Sherlock thought as they wandered through the store. Why was gift shopping so difficult? He could read people inside and out but it was incredibly challenging just to find a gift that suited them and that they would enjoy. Perhaps it was because his idea of ‘nice’ differed so greatly from that of those he considered ‘normal’ people.

                They eventually found a rather inexpensive necklace before heading to the front of the store to pay.

                John carried the bags up once they reached their flat, with little help from Sherlock.

                He set the bags down in the middle of the living room and stretched his sore fingers.

                “Now, I do half and you do half?” he questioned, earning a puzzled look from Sherlock.

                “I don’t wrap gifts John,” he stated. “Nor do I give them out.”

                John glared slightly. “I’m not doing these all myself Sherlock. Now get over here and help or so help me God I’ll—“

                “Fine, fine. Though I fail to understand why you are getting so upset over it.”

                Sherlock sat on the floor across from John as the shorter man removed the plastic from the wrapping paper and spread the few gifts they had bought in front of them.

                John immediately set to work with the tape and scissors as Sherlock slowly picked up the necklace they had bought for Molly. He watched John with mild interest as the man finished wrapping the first gift and started on a second.

                Sherlock grabbed a second roll of paper and slowly, meticulously, began wrapping the gift he was holding.

                Within the hour, the gifts were finally wrapped. John had done the majority of the wrapping but was still happy he had convinced Sherlock to help. It was obvious who had wrapped which presents. While John’s were neat, Sherlock’s were done up to picture perfection, complete with ribbons and bows.

                “You’re amazing at this Sherlock,” John stated as he examined the gift addressed to Lestrade.

                “Yes, well, it’s a simple task really, and mundane, I might add.” He stood from the floor, stretching out his sore muscles.

                John smiled and set the gift back down, knowing that if Sherlock truly hated it so much, he wouldn’t have stuck with it so long or put so much effort into it.

                They placed the gifts in a neat pile in the corner to be given out on Christmas. Each was labeled to their respective recipients and signed with John’s and Sherlock’s names, much to Sherlock’s annoyance.

                A few days later two more gifts were added to the pile, neatly wrapped and placed side by side. The tags labeling them were nothing out of the ordinary, the first reading: _‘To Sherlock, From John. Merry Christmas.’_

                The second tag was much simpler, reading only one word in flicked handwriting.

                _‘John.’_

Neither man made note of the mysterious gifts, though they both knew they were there.

                John found himself eyeing the gift labeled with his name more than he wanted too.

                Meanwhile, Sherlock was examining his gift from John ever time the army doctor left the room, if even only for a moment.

                It bothered him that he couldn’t figure out what was inside, it bothered him immensely, and it was the one case he was determined to solve before Christmas Day.


	5. Buying a Christmas Tree

25 Days of Christmas

OTP: Johnlock

Day 5: Buying a Christmas Tree

 

                “No.”

                Sherlock’s refusal was adamant against John’s pleas.

                “Come on Sherlock. We _have_ to have a Christmas tree. A real one. It’s tradition, one of the biggest ones of all.”

                There was that word again. Tradition.

                “I’m not crowding up our flat with a pine-scented monstrosity that doesn’t even belong inside in the first place, just so we can cover it with the same decorations already coating our walls and then eventually feel good about ourselves for doing so.”

                John rolled his eyes and slipped on his jacket. “Well, I’m going to buy one, whether you’re with me or you give me your okay or not.” He eyed Sherlock and his frown as he pulled on his gloves. “So if you want any say in the matter you had better come with and help me pick out the damn tree.”

                Sherlock huffed slightly as he pushed from his chair and swung over, grabbing his coat and slipping on his scarf.

                John smiled, feeling the pride of a battle won as he followed Sherlock down the stairs.

                Sherlock instantly hailed them a cab as John gave the address.

                The parking lot they pulled into a few minutes later was filled with trees lined up in rows according to size.

                John immediately headed to those closer to Sherlock’s height and began browsing. For each tree John stopped to examine, Sherlock would hardly glance at it before giving is opinion in a short blunt sentence, forcing them to move on.

                The army doctor was determined to find a tree Sherlock liked, figuring that if he had drug the consulting detective our here against his will, the least he could do was find a tree that the man approved of.

                Finally, as they neared the end and John was starting to lose hope, about ready to just pick one and say damn Sherlock and is picky opinions, Sherlock stopped.

                “This one will do,” he stated before walking off with a flourish of his coat around his legs as he turned.

                John smiled, looking approvingly over the evenly spaced branches and the nice cone shape it held, along with the healthy green color it displayed.

                He paid for the tree before heading off in search of Sherlock to help him take it home. Much to his annoyance, the man had pulled one of his disappearing acts and the text that buzzed in his pocket moments later cemented his suspicions.

                _‘Went back to the flat._

_-SH’_

At least he had remembered to inform him for once but oh was that man going to get it when John got home.

                John shouldered the tree, the trunk dangerously close to dragging the ground and the branches scratching his face and getting in his line of sight. Finally he was able to get situated in such a way that he could carry the tree and headed home.

                Nearly 45 minutes later, John dropped the tree in the middle of their flat with an unceremonious thud and strong whoosh from the branches.

                He bent over, panting slightly.

                “Oh, you’re finally home.” Sherlock stated from the doorway that led to the kitchen.

                John looked up and glared, taking off his gloves and throwing them at Sherlock’s face, who easily dodged them by leaning to one side. He glanced back at the gloves now sprawled across the kitchen floor before turning back to John with a questioning look, sipping at his tea casually.

                “The hell Sherlock?! Do you realize what I just went through?” John continued on before Sherlock had a time to respond. “I had to carry this damn thing all the way home. With nothing to tie it down none of the cabs would take me. You know how humiliating it was to drag a tree through the streets of London and then two flights of stairs?”

                Sherlock glanced at the tree before shrugging up from the doorway and stepping forward, setting his cup down on the table. “I’m sorry, I did not realize, I just assumed you would appreciate a place to put it when you got home,” he said simply, looking up at John.

                John gapped at him for a moment before looking over and noticing for the first time the completely cleared corner in the back of the room, next to the fireplace. It was perfect for the tree they had chosen.

                “Sherlock…” John said, he hadn’t expected so much from the man.

                The consulting simply shook his head. “Let’s get this set up, it’s getting pine needles everywhere.” There was an annoyance in his tone, but a small smile played at his lips that he easily hid.

                It took some effort and several minutes but soon the tree was set up in the corner Sherlock had provided and a proud and somewhat childish grin spread across John’s face.

                “It’s perfect!” he proclaimed with partially contained glee.

                “It’s a tree John. Inside the house. The entire notion is rather preposterous.”

                “Oh shut up Sherlock. You picked it out. You like it and you know it.”

                Sherlock smirked, as John stood admiring the large plant in the corner. He sat down and pulled his knees to his chest, resuming his task of drinking his tea. He glanced at the tree before looking over at John. Yes, it was a rather handsome choice indeed.


	6. Decorating the Christmas Tree

**25 Days Of Christmas**

**OTP: Johnlock**

**Day 6: Decorating the Christmas Tree**

 

                John stood on tiptoe as he did his best to keep his balance and not fall into the tree as he struggled to hang the green sparkled orb in his hand on one of the highest branches. Suddenly and without warning, the ornament disappeared from his hand, taken by a much more slender and boney and placed on the branch John had been reaching for. John looked over in mild shock as Sherlock gave his usual grin.

                “Step ladders usually make tasks like this easier John,” he stated.

                John sighed and took a step back to grab another ornament.

                “Mrs. Hudson has it right now,” he replied as he picked up a ceramic bow and examined the tree to figure out where to hang it.

                He blinked slightly when Sherlock moved, hanging a little wooden sled on one of the lower branches. Sherlock didn’t say a word as he slowly moved the ornaments from the box to the higher branches while John made sure to get the lower ones.

                They were about halfway through decorating the tree when Mrs. Hudson’s soft “oh” distracted them. John turned around and smiled.

                “Do you like it Mrs. Hudson?” he asked.

                “You did such a beautiful job, the both of you. It’s so nice to see you two work together. And Sherlock, I’m so happy to see you finally getting into the Christmas spirit.”

                Sherlock gave her a rather forced smile. “Yes, well, if I didn’t help, John was going to knock the tree over and I wasn’t about to have him making a mess in our flat.” He sent a quick glance in John’s direction who was busy distracting himself with the ornaments that were still left in the box.

                “Oh yes! That reminds me, John, I’m done with the step ladder if you still need it, I left it at the bottom of the stairs,” she said, pointing towards the stairway.

                John gave her a warm smile. “Thank you Mrs. Hudson, but I’m sure we have it handled. We’re almost done here.”

                Mrs. Hudson smiled and nodded. “Alright dear. But oh, where is your star John?”

                John blinked, mildly confused for a moment, before he realized she meant the star for the top of the tree. “We don’t have one,” he said, rummaging around in the box. How could he have forgotten?

                Mrs. Hudson waved her hand at him dismissively and then held up a finger. “Now you two wait right there, I’ll be right back,” she said before scuttling out of the room and down the stairs.

                Both John and Sherlock gave her quizzical looks, watching the doorway in mild anticipation before the elderly woman finally returned several minutes.

                She stood before John and handed him a yellow star with netted mesh like plastic that left little holes and would allow light to shine through in an array of spots once power was applied. The thing was was obviously very worn and aged, browning in some spots and some holes were bigger than they probably should have been with a little fraying around the edges of the plastic.

                “This was mine for several years, I just bought a new one last year and never got around to getting rid of this one. It’s rather old but I think it’s perfect for you two.”

                John looked up her in awed appreciation. “Thank you Mrs. Hudson, this is perfect,” he said, leaning forward and kissing her cheek.

                She chuckled bashfully and lightly batted his arm. “Now now John, you’ll make an old lady blush,” she said, smiling brightly. “Why don’t you put it up and see how it looks?”

                John smiled and nodded, turning and stepping over to the tree. He reached up, but unsurprisingly he couldn’t reach the top branch on which he was trying to place the star.

                “Oh my, I forgot, let me get the step ladder,” Mrs. Hudson said, turning to head back down the stairs.

                “No need Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock said as he swiftly grabbed the star from John’s extended hand and standing on his tiptoes, placed it on the top of the tree. “There, that should do it.”

                “Wonderful job Sherlock, it looks beautiful,” the landlady said with a gentle but excited clap.

                The men both smiled and finished with the remaining decorations before turning on the string of lights that wound around the tree in lazy circles before turning off the overhead lights in the room and those adjoining.

                Mrs. Hudson let out a quiet, awed gasp. “Oh it’s just beautiful boys!” she said in a whisper, as if speaking in a normal tone would ruin the beauty of the multicolored lights that reflected off the metallic ornaments and gave an overall warm and comforting glow to the room.

                John and Sherlock looked to each other and couldn’t help but share a smile and as John  turned to look back in admiration at the tree, Sherlock noticed how the lights reflected in his eyes, flicks of green, red, orange and blue barely visible in the small orbs from where he was standing, but still there. He turned back to the tree and gave it a careful once over. Even he would admit that it was very nice.

                “Perhaps this tree thing wasn’t such a bad idea John,” he said matter of factly.

                John looked over him in mild shock. “Are you serious?” he asked, eying him a little suspiciously.

                “Of course John, I always am. It really brings in that spirit that you keep talking about and the colors are ones that elicit…” he looked over and trailed off, noting John’s pointed look. He sighed and let a small smile turn up the corners of his mouth. “It is very nice,” he said simply.

                John smiled, genuine and bright. “Well, I’m glad you think so,” he said and the room fell into silence as they all allowed themselves to enjoy the simplicity of the tree and the warmth of being together for the season.


	7. Mistletoe

**25 Days of Christmas**

**OTP: Johnlock**

**Day 7: Mistletoe**

 

                Soft music played in the background as idle chatter filled up the room. John weaved his arm around the waist of a rather slender woman in a knee-length silk red dress. Heather, if Sherlock remembered correctly. He often lost track of John’s girlfriends. If he had is way he would avoid keeping track of them all together, they did nothing but annoy him, but he knew he had to be socially proper and polite. John didn’t bring them by very often, not that Sherlock blamed him, he knew he was a difficult man to be around and it wasn’t terribly uncommon for Sherlock to more or less ruin the relationship.

                “Really got in the spirit this year, didn’t you Sherlock?” Lestrade asked, sipping at a glass filled with amber liquid as he took a stance beside the consulting detective.

                “It was mostly John,” Sherlock said, taking a drink from his own similar glass, pausing in his current analysis and deduction of Heather’s life story. “He was eager to jump right into all this seasonal stuff.” He waved his hand around to make a point, sloshing his drink around in its cup. “Honestly, I don’t understand it, he wasn’t like this last year.”

                Lestrade simply shrugged. “Perhaps he’s just more comfortable.”

                Sherlock had to fight off the smile that was so unlike him at the comment. It secretly pleased him that John would be so comfortable with him now.

                The consulting detective’s eyes flickered over as he noticed a movement of red, Heather, with all her auburn waves curled and pinned to perfection, leaned in and gave John a quick peck on the cheek before slipping out of his grasp and disappearing into the kitchen as Mrs. Hudson brought out the tea, despite the fact that they all already had their drinks.

                Sherlock casually reached up and gently wiped the smudge of lipstick from John’s cheek, trying to hide the mild disgust he felt inside. John gave him a mildly surprised look but was instantly distracted by Mrs. Hudson’s light but excited cry. They both looked over to find her beaming at them.

                “Sherlock and John are under the mistletoe! How perfectly wonderful. Go on now, you two know the tradition!”

                John opened his mouth, had he failed to notice that he had brought his girlfriend to the party? He quickly closed it, realizing that the look on his landlady’s face that his explanations weren’t going to convince her, she, more than anybody, was convinced that he and Sherlock were a couple. And they weren’t. They really weren’t.

                John turned to Sherlock, frowning at the smirk that sat on the consulting detective’s face. He sighed in resignation and decided to take the initiative, knowing that if he didn’t, Sherlock would and who knew where that would lead with a man such as Sherlock Holmes. Leaning up onto his toes he gave Sherlock a quick kiss on the cheek before settling back down, content with the achievement of pleasing Mrs. Hudson.

                But what he saw when he looked over was anything but. A frown hung on her lips, nearing a pout, which, was actually rather amusing on the old lady. The frown turned into a glare as she crossed her arms.

                “John Watson, how do you call that a kiss?” she asked sternly.

                John was at a loss. What was he supposed to do now? Mrs. Hudson expected a kiss—a real one this time. And John wasn’t exactly one to blatantly disappoint her, neither was Sherlock. God! Sherlock! He couldn’t kiss the man! Even if it was tradition. He had told himself and many others that they were not a couple and now here he was, with their small group of friends looking at them expectantly, in anticipation. John scanned the group, lingering on Heather, her eyes searing as she practically dared him to go ahead and try it. There was no way he was kissing Sherlock, he told himself as his eyes moved past his current girlfriend and over the rest of the group. There was no way he—.

                His eyes fell back on Sherlock for only a moment before the taller man’s dry lips were on his own.  He started slightly but Sherlock pressed in. It was a rather awkward kiss, filled with hesitancy and confusion, mostly from John’s end. They were still, lips and all, for a long moment and while neither of them would ever admit it, it did feel oddly… _good,_ satisfying in way. After a barely a moment more of awkwardness, John pulled away, trying to pretend the kiss didn’t leave him wide eyed and breathless. He stumbled back slightly, as Sherlock simply stood, pursing his lips slightly.

                “Interesting…” he mumbled.

                John blinked, almost forgetting that there were people in the room, people he knew and considered friends as he licked his lips, subconsciously savoring in the faint taste Sherlock left behind. “Excuse me?” He asked a little harshly. “You just kissed me and all you have to say is ‘interesting’?”

                Sherlock nodded, his gaze elsewhere as he thought the kiss over, turning it around and around in his mind. “If I’m not mistaken John, you started kissing back there about three seconds in. But yes, very interesting. I was curious, so thank you for answering that question. Miss Heather?” He turned his head, his color-changing eyes focusing on her hot hazel ones as they glared a hole into his skull. “You boyfriend is a rather good kisser, from what I deduce. Congratulations.”

                Heather huffed lightly as she stomped out from behind Mrs. Hudson and right up and into Sherlock’s face. She raised her hand, swung it back and let it make contact with Sherlock’s face with a loud snap.

                His eyes stung as he turned back to look at Heather with a blank stare. “He’s not my boyfriend _Mr. Holmes._ Not anymore,” and with that she turned on her sharp stiletto heel, stomped over to John, gave him the same facial treatment  before harshly telling him not to ever call her again before disappearing down the stairs.

                John chased after her, calling her name, only to return minutes later, pissed and dejected.

                “Who the hell put that mistletoe there in the first place?” he snapped as his friends stared at him wide eyed. He hadn’t remembered hanging such a thing in their flat, mostly for this very reason.

                Mrs. Hudson raised a timid, shaking hand. She hadn’t expected things to turn out so badly. “I did dear. I do apologize.”

                John sighed, there was no way he could stay mad at her. Even now she looked about ready to fall into a sobbing mess. “It’s alright Mrs. Hudson, I just think I’ve had enough tradition for the night. Let’s just enjoy the party, alright?” he said, giving a weak smile after trying to rub the stress from his eyes and the bridge of his nose.

                She nodded and for the rest of the night things went rather pleasantly. And while John refused to say a word to Sherlock, the consulting detective didn’t mind, perfectly content to sit back, exchange a few words with Molly and Lestrade and simply watch John. All in all, despite the events that had transpired, this was a night that Sherlock considered absolutely worth it.

 


	8. Making Snowmen

**25 Days of Christmas**

**OTP: Johnlock**

**Day 8: Making Snowmen**

 

                Everything was silent in the flat of 221B, minus the crackle of the fire in the background, the sound of rustling as John flipped through that morning’s paper and the occasional sound of him sipping at the hot liquid in his mug. The morning had brought snow. The big flaky kind that stuck and piled up inches high in a matter of minutes. Neither of the men seemed phased by the change in weather, honestly, both of them had been somewhat expecting it and had used it as an excuse to sit inside with the fire warming the room.

                The party was only the night before and John still wasn’t speaking to Sherlock and was all around avoiding him. The consulting detective would have minded more if it wasn’t almost like normal anyways. It did unnerve him that John seemed to act like Sherlock’s presence didn’t exist at all, but he brushed it off rather easily as he sat on the couch in thought. He was still analyzing the kiss from the previous night. John’s reaction had not what he expected, though the reaction _after_ the kiss was very similar to what he imagined, though he did not think that the man would hold his grudge into the following day. Another thing that intrigued him was the mild pleasure that he felt from the simple contact of their lips. Is that what a kiss was meant to feel like? He would have preferred to investigate further, but he was almost certain that John wouldn’t allow it. He glanced over at the man seated in his chair as he concentrated on the newspaper. No, definitely not.

                A sigh from the chair had Sherlock’s gaze trailing once again over to the only other person in the room as John stood, folding the paper and draping it over the arm of the chair.

                “I’m going out,” he announced as he stepped over and grabbed his coat. Though not directed exactly at Sherlock, it was the first words he had spoken to the man since the party.

                “Where?” Sherlock asked, watching as John tugged on his gloves.

                John paused, blinking as he looked over at Sherlock puzzled. “Since when do you care?” he asked. It wasn’t snippy or sarcastic, but an honest question brought forth from confusion.

                Sherlock didn’t answer as he turned back and stared into nothing. John sighed lightly and with another glance at the man on the couch headed out.

                As soon as he was done the stairs, Sherlock jumped up, grabbed his coat and raced to the window just in time to see John leave the apartment and take a right. He slipped on his winter gear in a flash and was gone moments later.

                He made sure to keep a good distance from John. He was curious as to where he was going so suddenly, but had very little interest in joining him. Besides, if John knew that Sherlock had followed him he would be upset and quite possibly send him home.

                As they passed a playground a group of children were building a snowman in the yard and as one of them saw John passed, quickly and rather desperately called out to him.

                Sherlock watched as John  paused and the child, a small boy probably around the age of nine, came running up to him. He moved closer in an attempt to hear their conversation.

                “Please?” The little boy begged, bouncing lightly as if that would help his case.

                Sherlock could see John’s shoulder’s shift in a sigh. “Alright then, I’ll help.”

                The boy cheered and grabbed John’s hand, tugging him into the yard.

                Sherlock followed and stood at the fence while John helped roll a ball of snow that was almost over most of the children’s heads. The moved the ball to its desired position before starting on the second one. This was made slightly smaller, as it was meant to be but still so big that when they tried to lift it onto the bottom ball, they were unable.

                The consulting detective sighed and shook his head, seemingly annoyed at John’s uselessness to the kids as he entered the play area and made his way over with wide strides.

                “John get on that side,” he said, crouching down and wedging his hands under the ball of snow.

                “Sherlock? What are you—?”

                “Just do it already John, really, you are hopeless.”

                John frowned but did as demanded and got in the same position on the other side of the ball. Together they lifted it onto the bottom portion and began packing in snow to keep it in place. The children then came up with a ball for the head a roll of his eyes he lifted the boy carrying the large snowball up so it could be placed on the top. Sherlock centered the head while John finished packing it into place and the children returned with sticks and stones and other random items they had found in order to decorate their masterpiece.

                With the two adults taking turns lifting the children when needed, they soon had the snowman completed.

                “Not bad,” John said, stepping back to take a look, and really, it wasn’t, even iff the arms were a little lopsided and the eyes were a little uneven.

                “We just spent an hour building a man out of three balls of snow and random nature items the kids found. I don’t see what’s so impressive about it. It doesn’t even look like a person.”

                John couldn’t help but chuckle. “that’s not something I can explain Sherlock, just enjoy it, okay? It’s been years since I did this.” He laughed, a bright smile on his face. His cheeks and nose were a rosy red with the cold and his blonde hair was turning white with the snow that continued to fall around them.            

                “John, let’s just go home. You look absolutely frozen,” Sherlock said, glancing over him.

                John’s smile faltered as he realized how cold he really was. “How about you?” he said, taking in the bright red of Sherlock’s face and the tint of blue that played at his lips.

                “I’m fine, cold doesn’t bother me much,” he stated.

                John frowned but let it go. “Alright, let’s go home then,” he said, blowing and rubbing his fingers together in an attempt to get warmth back into them through the gloves.

                They said good-bye to the children who thanked them excitedly and then began walking back to their flat.         

                John immediately stood by the fire once they were inside, holding his fingers as close to the flames as he dared as Sherlock made tea in the kitchen.

                He handed John a cup with a small smile as the blogger thanked him and took a sip, basking in the warmth the immediately flooded through his body. He glanced over at Sherlock and frowned slightly.

                “Sherlock, you still look frozen, come back here and stand by the fire a minute.”

                The consulting detective rolled his eyes. “I’ve already told you I’m fine John,” he said, taking a sip from his own steaming drink.

                John sighed and disappeared for a moment before returning with a blanket. “Please me for a bit and at least cover up with this until your cheeks don’t look so red,” he said, handing it to him.

                Sherlock gave an exasperated sigh and took the blanket, draping it across his legs. John looked satisfied as he returned to the fireplace and while his back was turned, Sherlock unfolded the blanket and pulled his knees up to his chest, and curled up in the large cloth, breathing in the scent he only knew as John. He really wasn’t cold, but the warmth was more enticing than he had initially anticipated and he quickly came to appreciate the blanket.

                John glanced over and chuckled lightly under his breath. Sometimes that man could be so stubborn but there were times where he would allow himself to falter, always when he thought John wasn’t looking. Oddly enough, John was taking notice a little more of those little things now and they made him secretly and strangely happy.  He turned back to the fire and despite the ice still in his fingers, he felt completely warm and content, but he just chalked it up to the general warmth the season brought. At least, that was the most logical explanation, never mind he hadn’t been able to get the kiss out of his head and he felt the same warmth every time he remembered his lips pressed to Sherlock’s… No. He wasn’t thinking about that. He wasn’t interested in Sherlock, not in that way. He had practically told the world that he wasn’t into that sort of thing, so there was no way he could be feeling things for the man seated in the chair a few feet away. But there was no way he could deny the slight tingling in his lips as his thoughts wandered back to the kiss.

                Cursing mentally, he took a deep drink of his tea. Now was not the time, he didn’t want to think about such a thing ever again. No matter how good it felt.

               

               


	9. Wearing Ugly Christmas Jumpers

**25 Days of Christmas**

**OTP: Johnlock**

**Day 9: Wearing Ugly Christmas Jumpers**

 

                John stepped through the front door of 221B Baker Street, kicking the snow from his shows and brushing it from his sleeves. His hair was peppered with the cold flakes as well and his face was bright red from the snipping cold. He let out a breath, looking over as Mrs. Hudson came shuffling out of her own little home.

                “Oh John, I was just about to bring this up to you, it came in earlier but you two were out, so I held onto it for you,” she said, handing him a rather large package.

                John smiled and took it from her. It wasn’t heavy, but it did have some weight from it. “Thank you Mrs. Hudson,” he said.

                She smiled back. “Anytime deary, anytime.”

                He nodded and headed up the stairs, reading the label on the box in his hands. It was addressed to both him and Sherlock with no return address. It was a bit suspicious and he felt a frown pull at his lips.

                “Got a package,” he said, glancing over to Sherlock, seated in his chair with his knees pulled up to his chest as he stared off in thought. The man didn’t answer, but then again John didn’t really expect him too.

                John sighed and placed the package carefully on the desk as he stripped of his winter gear and hung it on the rack.

                Sherlock jumped up and stepped over to the package, reading the label, picking it up and thoroughly examining it.

                “John, open it,” he said.

               “What? Why me?” he asked in protested, not too pleased with the suspicious look Sherlock was giving the package. It only fueled the paranoia he was feeling inside.

                “Just do it. I have an idea who it’s from and we can assume it isn’t too dangerous, but you can never be too sure,” Sherlock explained.

                John gave him a look that clearly said ‘you’ve got to be kidding me.’ “You can’t really expect—“

                “Just open it John,” Sherlock interrupted with an annoyed tone, never taking his eyes off the brown box.

                John sighed, knowing there was no use in arguing at this point. He grabbed a knife from the kitchen and carefully opened the package.

                “What the…” John muttered as he pushed the flaps back and peered into the box.

                Sherlock leaned forward, whipping in and snatching up the small paper setting onto of the knitted green, red and white yarn.

                _Merry Christmas. Please enjoy._

_-M_

Sherlock recognized his brother’s handwriting right away. Somewhat fancy and flourishing, but still a little messy.

                “Who is it from?” John asked, pulling out the first jumper and holding up with an uncertain look on his face. The jumper was knitted in stripes of alternating red, white and green. Sewn on not only the front, but the back and the sleeves, were beads and sequins creating snowflakes and little Christmas trees at varying angles.

                Sherlock’s face twisted up in disgust as he eyed the jumper in John’s hands. “Mycroft,” he spat. “Says Merry Christmas.” He tossed the note on the desk.

                “He can’t expect us to wear these,” he said, turning the jumper around and hitting a button inside the jumper so that Sherlock could clearly see the rather large Christmas tree that took up the front glitter and flash with the lights that had been attached.

                Sherlock’s face didn’t change. “What do you mean us? I thought you liked your jumpers.”

                John reached into the box and held up a similar jumper to the one that was in his hands. “There’s one for you too. And I do like my Jumpers, but this is a little much, even for me.”

                “Put them back John,” Sherlock said as he leaned over to look out the window, a black car pulling up down below. “We’re going out.”

                He skipped over to the coat rack and pulled on his belstaff and scarf. “Bring the package,” he said as he disappeared down the stairs.

                “What? Where—Sherlock!” John sighed and slipped his winter gear back on before glancing out the window and grabbing the package.

                “There has to be nicer way of meeting that isn’t practically kidnapping,” John said as he climbed in beside Sherlock.

                Anthea only looked up from her phone with a amused smile and then back down again without saying a word.

                The car pulled away from 221B and soon John and Sherlock once again found themselves in the sparkling elegance of the Buckingham Palace, where they had first met Mycroft on the Irene Adler Scandal Case. At least Sherlock had his trousers on this time.

                “What is it Mycroft?” Sherlock said in an annoyed tone.

                “Good to see you as well little brother. Did you enjoy the gift I sent?” Mycroft asked.

                “What kind of joke is this?” Sherlock asked, on the verge of fuming as he pulled a jumper out of the box on John’s lap and shook it in his brother’s face.

                “I just wanted to send you a nice little gift. I’m very disappointed to see that you don’t like it. I worked so hard on picking it out.”

                The younger Holmes rolled his eyes. “Please.” He turned and threw the jumper back in John’s lap.         

                “So I didn’t get them for you. They’re from somebody above me,” he said.

                Sherlock shook his head. “Why would a royal—“

                Mycroft shook his head, cutting his brother off. “Not in the government,” he said with a  smirk, watching his brother closely.

                The younger Holmes paused. “You can’t mean—Why would she come all the way out here?”

                Mycroft shrugged. “Well I was far too busy to come home for the holidays and I can only assume that you just simply refused with some ridiculous excuse of being busy as well, she took it upon herself to come see us.”

                “Why didn’t I know about this?”

                The older man only shrugged as slipped off his suit jacket and draped it over the arm of the chair beside him and pulled a bright Christmas jumper from the bag that John hadn’t noticed was sitting on the seat.

                He pulled it on over his head and eyed his brother. “She’ll be here in a few minutes. I would put that on before she gets here, wouldn’t want you upsetting her again.”

                Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Me upset her,” he grumbled as he removed his coat and snatched the jumper from John’s lap.

                “Oh and John, if you would be so kind. She was nice enough to get you one as well,” Mycroft said politely motioning towards the box still in the blogger’s lap.

                “Oh yes, right.” John pushed the box to the side, pulled out the jumper, eyed it a moment and then pulled it on over his head.

                They all looked at each other with uneasy looks, eyeing the ridiculous jumpers they were practically forced to wear and moments later, their gazes were directed towards the doorway with the sound of heels on the floor.

                An older woman soon entered the woman, a bright smile on her face, her very presence emanating dominance and control, but in a surprisingly warm manner.

                “Hello boys, Merry Christmas. Now come give Mummy a hug.”

 

**********

 

                “That was ridiculous,” Sherlock stated, once they were back at their flat as he tossed the jumper on the couch and sat down beside it.

                “I don’t know,” John said, pulling the jumper over his head and neatly folding it. “I thought she was rather sweet.” His meeting with Mummy Holmes was not at all what he had expected. She had been sweet and light on her words but still had a firm dominance, especially over her two boys that would make almost any man cower. It was clear why neither Mycroft nor Sherlock wanted to upset her, John could imagine what that was like, not to mention the lingering disappointment John caught on her face whenever she looked at her sons.

                Sherlock scoffed but didn’t say anything. He clearly wouldn’t be wearing the jumper again but John noted how he folded it and put it away in his bedroom instead of throwing it out as John had expected. He had seen a different side of Sherlock today, a more submissive side that he never expected to see, but it was gone now and John found himself wishing to see more.


	10. Baking Christmas Goodies

**25 Days of Christmas**

**OTP: Johnlock**

**Day 10: Baking Christmas Goodies**

 

                Pleasant smells drifted up through the floorboards, thoroughly distracting John but not seeming to bother Sherlock in the slightest. The scent of fresh goodies was faint and had only been lingering in John and Sherlock’s flat for a few minutes before a shuffling came upstairs that could be no one other than their beloved landlady.

                “Oh good, you boys are here, would you mind helping me down in the kitchen?” She asked, looking between the two men seated in their chairs.

                John folded up the paper he had been reading and gave her a smile as he stood. “Of course we would love to help. Sherlock?” He looked over to the man as he scanned his computer screen.

                “I don’t bake,” he stated without looking up.

                “Oh come along Sherlock. It’ll be fun, we’ll even make extras for you to take home deary,” Mrs. Hudson said with a cheerful smile.

                Sherlock looked over at her out of the corner of his eye, a frown on his lips. He took on her hopeful and expectant gaze and posture as well as John’s. Finally sighed he sighed.

                “Oh alright,” he said with an exasperated tone. If there were three people in his life that he would do anything not to let down, it was his mother, Mrs. Hudson and John Watson. Lestrade was somewhat of a different situation.

                The faces of the landlady and the blogger both lit up with appreciative smiles that almost had one pulling at Sherlock’s own lips. They all shuffled down stairs and as they opened Mrs. Hudson’s door the intoxicating smell of Christmas goodies nearly overwhelmed them.

                The kitchen was a mess but still surprisingly orderly and Mrs. Hudson quickly set them to their tasks. John was to separate the dough into small, squished balls, Sherlock was to begin making another batch of dough in the large bowl she had set aside. He eyed the recipe she had layed out for him before setting to work.

                John watched him with mild awe. He hadn’t expected Sherlock to actually enjoy baking, but the intensity with which he went into mixing together ingredients was the same with which John often saw him have in the lab. As Mrs. Hudson began humming a familiar Christmas carol, John could have sworn he saw a hint of a smile on the consulting detective’s face.

                “What is it John?” Sherlock asked, holding a measuring cup of flour over the flour bag as he carefully scraped off the excess.

                “What?” John asked, a little startled by Sherlock’s sudden question.

                “You keep staring at me with this awed and surprised look on your face. What I am doing really can’t be that shocking.”

                John shook his head. “I just never expected you to actually be so into this.”

                “Baking and cooking is nothing more than science you can eat, John,” Sherlock answered, dumping the flour into the bowl and scooping out another cup. “I like to consider myself an excellent cook, but I often do not exercise the habit because it is often not necessary nor is it convenient.”

                John found himself nodding. This made sense, especially coming from Sherlock. He finished flattening out the last ball of dough before turning to place the pan on the stove and making a grab for the empty pan next to it. Second later he dropped the metal cookie sheet with a cry that was nearly drowned out by the clatter of the sheet hitting the linoleum floor.

                John held his hand as he blew on his burning palm.

                “Oh dear!” Mrs. Hudson cried with worry as she turned around from setting the steaming plate of cookies on the counter. “I’m so sorry deary! I should have warned you that that pan was still hot.”

                Sherlock was already on the move, taking ice pack from the freezer and placing it over John’s palm.

                “Really John. You need to be more careful, more observant.”

                John didn’t say a word, silently ashamed of himself for such a foolish move.

                “Keep that on there for no less than ten minutes,” Sherlock instructed and John couldn’t help but give him a pointed look.

                “I am a doctor Sherlock, I think I know how to treat a minor burn,” he stated.

                Sherlock seemed slightly taken aback but the look and comment. “Yes well. You should be fine,” he said before turning back to the recipe he had been working on.

                A small smile spread across John’s face as he watched the man before turning back to Mrs. Hudson who was using hot pads to pick the pan back up. He took a few minutes to really assure her that it actually was okay and that he really was fine and soon he was back to his original task.

                A few hours later the kitchen was once again spotless and both Sherlock and John were sent back up to their flat, each with an arm laden with a tin of the days labors.

                They set the tins down in the kitchen and without warning, Sherlock grabbed John’s hand and examined the redness that was proof of the blogger’s earlier stupidity. A frown played at Sherlock’s features and before he dropped John’s hand and the shorter man looked up at him confused.

                “What was that?” he asked.

                Sherlock shrugged and headed into the living room area. “I was just checking,” he stated.

                “Checking what?”

                John received no answer and was fairly certain that he never would.

               


	11. Snogging in Front of the Fireplace

**25 Days of Christmas**

**OTP: Johnlock**

**Day 11: Snogging in Front of the Fireplace**

                Sherlock’s eyes watched John as the blogger flipped through that days paper. The day had been slow, no cases or errand to be run. The two men had been using it to just relax, or at least, John had. As always, Sherlock’s mind was busy with a personal case that had had him curious ever since the party.

                That kiss.

                Yes, that kiss had him most curious. John’s reaction wasn’t what he had expected and while he pushed the incident out of his mind for the past couple of days, he was now starting to wonder once more. While the blogger had been hesitant at first, eventually he had kissed the detective back. While Sherlock was only preforming an experiment at the time the emotions that arose within him, despite his efforts to push them away, were shocking and undeniable. Now the question was, did John feel the same and how could Sherlock find out.

                “John,” Sherlock said smooth tone that caused John to look up with a small hum.

                “Why don’t you say we have a few drinks, celebrate the holiday season just the two of us,” he said, gaining a quizzical look from the blogger.

                “I didn’t think you really drank. Or cared about the Holidays,” John answered.

                The consulting detective only shrugged. “I’m interested in seeing what the fuss is all about.”

                John sighed and stood. “I’ll get the drinks than.” Really, there was no use in arguing, if Sherlock wanted to get in the holiday spirit then John was all for it.

                He set out a couple glasses while Sherlock pulled out his violin to play a few Christmas carols.

                Filling the glasses with an amber liquid he handed on to Sherlock who paused in his playing to drink it. John sat back down and drank slowly at his own. The taller man picked his stringed instrument back up onto his shoulder and finished the song before continuing onto another one. As the sky grew dark outside the window, the man finally set the violin aside and started a fire in the fireplace.

                By this time, with a little urging from Sherlock, John was on his fourth or fifth glass and it was clear by his face and his actions that he was starting to get rather intoxicated.

                Within the next hour John was sitting in front of fireplace and patting the floor next to him. “Sherlock! Come join me! The fire is really nice,” he cried with a little more exuberance than was really needed.

Sherlock smirked but took a seat next to John. “Have another drink John,” he said, offering the bottle.

John shook his head. “No no, I’m sure I’ve had enough,” he said.

“Oh no, I insist,” Sherlock said with a rather mischievous grin.

“Oh I see, well if you insist,” John said with a slight slur to his words and held out his glass at a slight angle. Sherlock filled it and watched as John downed it in a matter of minutes.

The blogger’s eyes were glossy and even sitting it was clear that he was having trouble keeping his balance. This was his chance and Sherlock knew he had to take it before John passed out completely.

“John…” he said softly and John looked over with a smile, allowing Sherlock to lean in and press his lips against the alcohol flavored ones of the shorter man.

Much to Sherlock’s surprise, John didn’t hesitate in kissing him back and in a matter of seconds the kiss was almost as heated as the fire that blazed behind them. It was several long moments before Sherlock was forced to break off the kiss as John started to wander.

They both licked their lips as John stood, staggering.

“Let me help you,” Sherlock said and John didn’t answer but allowed Sherlock to help him to bed. Once he was all settled, Sherlock headed back out to the sitting room, pulling his knees up as her thought.

Once again the kiss was not what he had expected. It was hot and passionate and there was something there that he could feel, even through John’s drunken stupor. And his own physical reactions, the ones he couldn’t control, the heat in his chest and stomach, the buzzing in his brain and the tingle on his lips, even minutes after the kiss was over. Interesting, very interesting indeed. The only problem now was for once he didn’t know what to do next.

 


	12. Watching a Classic Holiday Film

**25 Days of Christmas**

**OTP: Johnlock**

**Day 12: Watching a Classic Holiday Film**

 

                “John.” Sherlock’s deep and somewhat menacing tone as the blogger knelt in front of the telly.

                John sighed and pressed the DVD player closed. “Sherlock, you promised. Now can you sit quiet for two hours and enjoy the movie?”

                Sherlock opened his mouth but then shut it again, a frown playing at his lips. He stared at the screen as John pressed play and took his own seat.

                The movie was in black and white and due to his lack of knowledge of such aspects of society when it didn’t a case, he was unable to name the movie. John had refused to tell him, but it was probably for the better that way, he might have never agreed to watch a movie titled _It’s a Wonderful Life._ Even now, he wasn’t sure why they were watching this or why John was so adamant that they do so in the first place. For the last half hour he had been trying to deduce the answer but for once, he was unable.

                John watched the movie, it had always been one of his favorites, though that wasn’t exactly something he would readily admit. He glanced at Sherlock far more than he would have liked to and found himself watching the man more than the movie. He was on edge, waiting, but they were an hour into the movie and the consulting detective still hadn’t said a word. To tell the truth, it was starting to scare him a little. It wasn’t unusual For Sherlock to remain silent for extended periods of time, but during a movie it was nearly impossible for him to keep his mouth shut.

                Finally John paused the movie, staring at Sherlock intensely as the taller man turned to look at him quizzically.

                John took a breath but was unable to formulate a question.

                “Speak John, what is it?” Sherlock asked.

                “You, there is no way you can go this long without saying anything,” he answered.

                Sherlock was silent for a moment before turning his attention back to the telly. “You made me promise that I wouldn’t speak during the film and I fully intended on keeping that promise. Now if you are asking for my opinion, I believe that—“

                John held up a hand, cutting him off. “No Sherlock, I would prefer if you wouldn’t. Just…. I don’t understand you.”

                “People rarely due. Now, shall we finish the movie?” he asked.

                John gave him a quizzical look, if he didn’t know better he would have thought that Sherlock was actually _enjoying_  the movie. Sherlock gave him an expectant look and John slowly nodded before moving to play the movie again.

                Once again, John found himself watching Sherlock more than the movie. Waiting for him to speak, watching his reactions, the little twitches of his lips and the flicks of his eyes. As far as he could tell, Sherlock was completely unaware of John’s observations and the blogger only found himself aware that the movie was over once Sherlock stood and switched it off. He blinked and looked away before Sherlock could notice that he was staring.

                John moved to put the movie away, not daring to ask Sherlock’s opinion, he wasn’t quite sure the man even understood the emotional aspect of the movie.

                “John.”

                Sherlock’s voice caused John to turn around and look at the man.

                “I… I was wondering if we would be able to do this again sometime.”

                John blinked. “I’m sorry, do what?” he asked, though he was fairly certain he knew what Sherlock was asking.

                “This movie… thing. I would like to do it again.”

                John blinked again. “Uh, yeah. Yeah sure, of course we can.”

                He turned back to the DVD shaking his head before turning around and furrowing his eyebrows at Sherlock. “I’m sorry, but I have to ask. Are you alright?”

                Sherlock rolled his eyes, pushing up from his chair. “Yes, yes, I’m perfectly fine. At least in the context of which you are referring.” He paced into the kitchen and John let it drop with a sigh.

                He looked down at the case showing a black and white picture of a man holding a little girl by a Christmas tree and the white fancy scrawl spelling out the title and sighed. Another one huh? It really didn’t make any sense, why on Earth would Sherlock be interested in watching another movie?

                “Oh and John?”

                The shorter man looked over towards the kitchen where Sherlock was leaning out of the doorway. “Hm?”

                “Next time I pick the movie.”


	13. Listening to/Playing festive music or Caroling

**25 Days of Christmas**

**OTP: Johnlock**

**Day 13: Listening to/Playing festive music or Caroling**

 

                Things were fairly normal the next day at the flat of one Dr. John Watson and his friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. The room was quiet as each man went about their own business, Sherlock swishing around in his bathrobe, t-shirt and loose pants, fiddling around with one of his numerous experiments. All the while John was sitting quietly at his computer, pursuing his usual habit of ignoring Sherlock’s antics.

                Yes, things were normal in 221B Baker Street until the melodious voices of men and women floated up and past the glass of the window.

                John paused and leaned back in his chair, a small smile playing at his lips.

                “Well will you look at that,” John said, moving to the window and pulling the curtain back to look down at the street below. “Come see Sherlock, we have carolers!” He said with a somewhat joyous chuckle.

                Sherlock was beside him before John realized it and looked over to see the taller man’s eyes flick down to the street and his pale lips crease dangerously close to a frown.

                “Oh, no Sherlock. You can’t tell me that you don’t like carolers! They’re practically the epitamy of spreading holiday spirit and cheer!” John stated as Sherlock spun away from the window with his robe billowing in tow as he picked up his violin and began to tune it.

                “They’re… annoying,” he said with a slight grimace. “Who would enjoy prancing around in the cold, singing songs to strangers?”

                John opened his mouth but decided not to argue as Sherlock began to play a song that John was shocked to find was a traditional Christmas carol. He sighed and shook his head, leaning back against the window and smiling and waving down to a small girl who was singing in the front row of the small group. She smiled back and waved up at him.

                “Oh do make them go away,” Sherlock groaned, cutting off the song.

                “Wha—Sherlock, I’m not going to just go tell them to leave, do you realize how… no no, you probably wouldn’t.”

                Sherlock stared for a minute before putting his bow back to the strings and picking up the song where he had left off.

                The song the carolers were singing finally finished and they moved on to the next home.

                “There, they’re gone now, are you happy?” John asked sharply.

                Sherlock frowned and with a small screech stopped the melody and lowered the violin to his side.

                “You’re upset.”

                John cast a quick glance at him and rolled his eyes slightly.

                “I don’t understand. I merely expressed my opinion—“

                “But that’s all you ever do isn’t it?” John interrupted. “I just don’t understand what you have against Christmas.”

                “I don’t have anything against Christmas, I simply believe that it is—“

                John held up a hand and cut him off once more. “Yes Sherlock, I know what you think,” he said in somewhat drained tone.

                Sherlock frowned as he watched John fall back into his chair. He picked his violin back up and began playing a new song as he watched out the window as the carolers moved down the street.

                He moved from song to song and a few glances over at John told him that the man was relaxing. Finally, he finished the final song and could immediately tell that John was much more at ease and it the small smile on the blogger’s lips was anything to go by, in a much better mood as well. He was beginning to think that perhaps Christmas carols weren’t nearly as annoying as he initially thought.


	14. Ice Skating

**25 Days of Christmas**

**OTP: Johnlock**

**Day 14: Ice Skating**

 

                John let out a light sigh as thundering food steps on the stairs warned him of Sherlock’s excited approach.

                “Grab your coat John, we’re going out,” the man announced as he entered the room.

                “What? Where?” John asked, feeling a little more shocked than he thought he ought to be.

                “Didn’t I just say? Out John, out!” Sherlock said, swirling around the room as he searched for something, his long coat billowing around him.

                John sighed again and shook his head, knowing that he would get no further explanation out of Sherlock, and if he did it was would be with a  heavily annoyed and chastising tone and for now John would rather just avoid all that.

                The blogger stood, grabbing his coat as Sherlock found whatever it was he was looking for with a pleased sound and slid it into his pocket. He whisked past John and raced down the steps and out the door without checking to see if John had followed.

                Out on the curb of Baker Street, the consulting detective waved down a cab and climbed in, John following suit, unable to catch the address.

                When they pulled into their destination, John still hadn’t figured out what was going on and Sherlock wasn’t dropping any clues, at least not ones he could pick up on. He stared at the ice rink in confusion, he hadn’t heard of any cases involving such a location or anything related, so unless Sherlock knew something he didn’t, which was more often than John cared to admit, he really had no clue what they were doing here.

                “Hello,” Sherlock said at the counter, where a man stood in a polo shirt, the wall lined with ice skates behind him. He gave their shoe sizes and slid two white pieces of paper towards him. The man checked both pieces with a blue marker before sliding them back to Sherlock who slid them back into his pocket. While the man stepped back to find their sizes, John tugged Sherlock to face him.

                “Sherlock, what are we doing here?”

                Sherlock gave him that look. The one that said, ‘Really John? Sometimes I don’t understand how you can be so stupid.’

                “I thought it was obvious, John, we’re ice skating,” he answered, taking the skates from the man behind the counter and handing John his pair.

                “Yes, I can see that, but _why_? I don’t remember their being any cases where—“

                “This isn’t for a case John,” Sherlock interrupted as he sat down on a bench and removed his shoes. Upon glancing up and seeing John’s perplexed expression, he continued.

                “Most people would consider this a fun past time. Mrs. Hudson got some tickets somehow, I don’t really know, I wasn’t really listening, but she gave them to me for you and I to go.”

                “You and I--,” John clamped his mouth shut. He wasn’t quite sure how to react. He didn’t mind skating, actually, he rather enjoyed it. But ice skating, with Sherlock Holmes? If people didn’t talk before…

                “It’s just ice skating John, no need to knot up your brain over it,” Sherlock said, interrupting John’s thoughts as he stood on the thin blades with perfect balance.

                “I just never pictured you to like skating,” John said, forcing his thoughts away from their previous subject.

                “I don’t mind it, though it has been many years, I am hoping not to make a complete and utter fool of myself.”

                John had to bite his tongue to keep the several snide remarks from forcing their way past his lips. Sherlock obviously caught the shift in expression, but didn’t question John about it more than a slight raise in the eyebrow.

                “But wouldn’t it have been… better if we had given them to someone else? Molly perhaps, I’m sure she would enjoy skating,” John said.

                Sherlock let out a light sigh. “Somehow Mrs. Hudson managed to get our names on the tickets, we are the only ones able to use them. That woman can be such a bother.” The last line was mumbled under his breath but John still managed to catch it. “I thought it best we used them instead of letting them lay to waste, Mrs. Hudson did seem very adamant about their use.”

                Now that John could believe and a small smile played at his lips as he tried to imagine the scene.

                A few minutes later they were on the ice, it was somewhat awkward at first, neither of them used to the situation, but after a while, they both started to relax and actually enjoy themselves. It helped that both of them were fairly good skaters, at least good enough to not be falling on their bums every time they pushed a foot forward. For the next couple of hours they casually skated in circles around the rink, neither of them really talking as it was hard to make conversation with a man like Sherlock Holmes who was in his head more than he was in the real world.

               Once they had thoroughly exhausted themselves, they turned in their skates and got coffee as they headed home.

                Back at the flat, they hung up their coats and Sherlock went to start the fire.

                A disapproving sound had John’s head turning in the taller man’s direction. “Seems we are out of matches, I’ll head down and ask Mrs. Hudson if she has any,” he stated and was gone before John could respond.              

                John’s eyes trailed over to land on Sherlock’s coat and he stared at the long Belstaff until curiosity got the better of them and with one more quick glanced at the stairs, he slid his hand into the pocket and closed his fingers around the tickets. Pulling them out, he read them over several times, and flipped them over, mildly confused.

                They were as Sherlock had explained, tickets to the ice skating rink in which they had just spent the day enjoying, but there was something odd about them. Something was missing and John couldn’t understand why Sherlock would lie about such a thing. He read them over a fourth time, but it was certain.

There were no names of any kind on the tickets.


End file.
